Goodbye, Beaver Dam bus. We miss you already.
Not the drivers who whizzed by without a glance; not those who thought you defiled the landscape; but us, your former, city-dwelling neighbors for whom you had become a comfy signal that we were almost home.
We’re the ones who wish you had survived a little while longer.
Though you were beat up and bruised, we came to appreciate you. You gave us a sense of the local life we interrupted, a reminder of our own school days, a reference point for our visitors, “Turn at the old school bus.”
You were the topic of many a back porch conversation. “I saw the white-bearded man mowing the grass; is he the owner?” “Once there was a metal shop on that corner.” “Oh, that’s why all those old cars are there.” “Yes, that’s the Beaver Dam Car Farm.”
A neighbor who lived close by voiced her gratitude, “Can’t tell you how many accidents would have been fatalities but for that bus.” Seems you were a guardrail.
When serious road work began at the corner of Kendale and Beaver Dam roads, our local conversations shifted. “Please, not another development.” “That property is zoned for business; heard a Royal Farms was coming.”
I’m from the Bronx, so if retail is an option, I’m rooting for a bodega-of-sorts, a general store, a Peddlers’ Village. A business that will maintain that landmark corner’s spirit of what was.
Parking sufficient for a quick stop for milk, a six-pack, or some scratch offs.
A small deli counter with a breakfast grill, a freezer for pints of Hopkins Farm Ice Cream, and employees who will slice baloney for a little boy waiting as grampa sips a cup of coffee that didn’t cost him $3.
A place where regulars are recognized with a smile and asked, “The usual?”
A place that might be called The Beaver Dam Bus Stop.